Waiting game

30 Weeks - A fresh batch of nervousness and anxiousness has come over me lately. I think back to being 30 weeks pregnant with Ted. I was on my way to Iowa to celebrate with family and friends our upcoming arrival. My wonderful aunts threw me a shower and my sweet Iowa girls threw me another. It was a wonderful weekend of family and friends and celebration. I was starting to get "uncomfortable" with my pregnancy. Swollen ankles...seriously, they are my least favorite part of pregnancy. I can handle the growing belly, even the stretch marks, but nothing made me feel grosser than "kanckles"...ugh.

With Lily, I honestly barely even feel pregnant. My belly hasn't grown nearly as much as it should. If you don't know me and know that I am pregnant, you may just think I have a "perpetual gut". There was a time I would have been thrilled to not gain much pregnancy weight. Now it just means my little girl isn't growing like she should. I look down at my small belly and I can barely see past the tears. But, even though she is little, she is mighty! Her kicks are stronger than Ted's ever were. :)

I'm anxious and nervous all the time. Every slight ache in my stomach I feel may be the start of labor. There are days where I just want her to be here...to get to the next stage of grief and suffering. But, then I will wake up in the morning and worry for hours until I feel her move. I'm not ready, but at the same time, sometimes I just want it "to be over". 

I hate thinking that or saying it out loud, but it's true. (I have promised to be honest in case anyone else reading this is going through something similar. There is no right or wrong emotion or feeling.) I know in my heart it will never "be over". No matter what, I will think of Lily every day and miss her terribly. But this waiting game...it can really take its toll on your heart, your emotions and shatter all your hope. With Ted, there was anxiety, but it was minimal compared to our excitement to meet him. When my water broke with Ted, there was a slight panic, but then the rush of adrenaline because I knew it meant we would get to meet our baby soon, and...we would get to take him home.

I can't wait to meet Lily. To see her, to hold her in my arms, to examine her every little detail. To see if she has her brother's sweet cheeks. But I also walk in a shadow of fear for this moment. I'm afraid she won't be born alive. I'm just as afraid that she will be and I will have to watch her stop breathing. I can't stop thinking about the moment they will take her away from us and I will have to leave the hospital with empty arms.

To feel so helpless and hopeless is not in my nature. 

So, we continue to pray. As much as we try to prepare for our reality, we also beg God for a miracle. We pray for peace every day...that we will be at peace with her birth, her life, with however long we have with our sweet Lily girl. We do this, because honestly, it's all we have.

27 weeks on the left with Ted, 30 weeks on the right with Lily 

bittersweet

It's been somewhat of a roller coaster of emotions weaving in and out this week...

My parents have been here all week and it's been so amazing! Despite the heat, we've spent a lot of time playing outside, both in our yard and around town. There's just something about having them here that brings me peace and makes me feel safe. I wake up afraid many days thinking that today is the day and I'm not ready yet. But with them here, I haven't been so afraid. There's a part of me that has hoped she may come this week, just so they would already be here.

We went up north for a day to get out of the heat and go fishing. Ted had a blast playing in the water, throwing mud and basically just being a messy little boy.

He's grown up so much this past week...no more baby in this house, he's all toddler!

I've been able to share with my mom some of the outfits I bought Lily and the beanies I've been making for her. Lily's been doing acrobats in my belly and they've been able to see her move like crazy. It makes my heart ache thinking this may be the only way they know her. 

We had an ultrasound this past week to see Lily again and hopefully get some 3-D images of her. I've been anxious/nervous/worried all week...not the way anyone should feel before a 28 week ultrasound. As all appointments have been, it was emotional, but this one was by far the worst.  I think I went in still hoping for a miracle or a misdiagnosis. On the very first image, the tech typed "CEPHALIC". My heart just sank heavy into my chest, like someone placed a brick on me and I couldn't breathe. 

The tech had a hard time getting a full image of her face or profile because she is head down, face down and very low in my pelvis. I was really hoping to see her more. 

We did get to see her sweet little hand up by her face and I know in my heart she has her brother's sweet cheeks. I asked the tech if she saw any other anomalies and she simply said, "everything else looks perfect." A dagger in my heart. It was so bittersweet. 

That's all you would ever want to hear in an OB appointment or an ultrasound, but when your daughter has been diagnosed with Anencephaly and they have told you over and over that if she survives birth at all, she may only live a few hours, it just cuts you even deeper to hear that besides her brain and skull, she is perfectly healthy. I didn't even know I had it in me to cry like that anymore, but I did. 

I wept. And Jason wept too.

We went out to the waiting room to wait for our CD of pictures and I sobbed some more. I didn't even care there were other people there...waiting for their carefree ultrasounds. I couldn't stop crying. It felt like every ounce of hope I was praying for was being washed away. I had tried so hard to be strong, but I just couldn't be anymore.

It really made me think about what it means to have hope. I know Bradley's parents held on to hope until he took his last breath. I know Chris did the same when his wife died, also too soon from cancer. I think I hold on to hope because honestly...I cannot imagine one day of my life without Lily here. I cannot even begin to think of not getting to bring her home, take her to Iowa or watch her grow up with Ted. It's truly unimaginable to me. I cannot even begin to think of what it will be like to walk out of that hospital not carrying my daughter. So I hold onto hope because I can't remember what life was like before her and I can't imagine life without her.

Sometimes I wonder if knowing this far in advance is a blessing or a curse. I pray with all my heart I never have to know the answer to that. I think of women who went in to a 36 week routine appointment and found out their child had no heartbeat. I think of women who learned of their child's condition at their birth because it was before ultrasounds. I think of my friend's parents who lost their daughter two days after she was born and 9 months after a healthy pregnancy. My heart aches that they didn't have any warning or time to prepare.

But can you ever really prepare? I think about how much my heart aches right now and I already know that it's still nothing compared to what we will go through. The anticipation is gut-wrenching, but the reality, I know, will be beyond what I could even imagine. Labor doesn't scare me...I would go through any amount of pain for Lily. Delivering her doesn't phase me either. But when I think about the day, the moment that is (most likely) to come when they will take her away and I will never see her again? I can't breathe. I can't see passed the tears that well up in my eyes. 

There is no way to prepare.

 Lily girl's sweet hand and kissable cheeks just like her brother.